


Singed

by quillquiver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Romance, Wing Kink, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillquiver/pseuds/quillquiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel had always been proud of his wings... Until the moment he wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Singed

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've recently become obsessed with wing!fics... Half of this was written at like three in the morning, so hopefully it's okay. And it's my first foray into the contributing to the Supernatural fandom, so feedback is SO APPRECIATED. Hope you enjoy :)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I don't own Supernatural.

Dean Winchester had been doing research in the motel room when it began to glow white; the telling, painful, overwhelming sound of an angel causing the hunter to clutch at his ears and throw himself towards his knife. Sam had gone out to the library and to get some food a while ago, and the elder Winchester was currently cursing his younger brother’s absence, slitting the skin of his palm as he began to draw a familiar sigil on the motel room wall.

 _Angel warding, angel warding_...

A mass of flesh materialized in the middle of the room, tumbling towards the bathroom with the speed of a rocket. The entity was propelled against the closet on the far side of the room and broke various items along its way, scorch marks running through the carpet. Dean paused, looking at the smoking mass cautiously, hand poised just above the sigil.

Well, their security deposit was shot. 

Eyes watering from the smoke, the hunter wiped his face, completely ready to send whatever dick had come bother him back to the feather factory when a beige overcoat came into view. Cas.

 _Cas_.

And then Dean’s heart was in his throat. "Cas?" A beat. “Cas!” The hunter rushed over to the angel, leaning over Castiel’s battered vessel nervously. “Cas?!”

“D-Dean.”

Throwing himself down beside his friend, the human offered a hand, alarmed when Castiel weakly reached for the appendage, trying to sit and moaning in pain as he did so. The angel grimaced.

“Shit,” Dean cursed, looking at the other man helplessly. How the hell do you fix a freaking _angel_? Where do you even start?

Groaning, Castiel managed to prop himself up on his elbows, muscles on his back contracting painfully. “I’m fine,” he assured his friend through a groan. “I’m fine.”

The hunter scoffed. “Like hell you are.”

“I _am._ ”

“Then get up.”

Cas glared. And not just narrowing his eyes in frustration or anger… he _glared_. It was terrifying, and not something Dean wanted to see again any time soon. “It’s just my wing,” the angel muttered, breathing heavily.

A hurt wing couldn’t be too bad to fix, right? I mean, how different could that be from a sprained arm?

Dean did not grace that thought with a mental answer. “Okay. So, let me at it, Featherbrain.”

The angel looked at him disbelievingly, because not only was he helpless and he _hated_ that, but Dean was asking him to do something absolutely-- _Oh, merciful Father, it hurt_. "I'm a glorious metaphysical being of celestial intent," Cas muttered through clenched teeth. "My wings are not of this plane." 

" _Try,_ ” Dean replied, more concerned than anything else. “You can’t tell me there’s no way for me to see your angel bits.”

Castiel clenched his jaw, debating on whether or not to tell Dean that he was fine for the fourth time before deciding against it. Maybe he required some minor assistance. Minor. Working through the pain as the angel sat up, hissing at the strain on his wings. He gave Dean a look. "There… might be a way.”

And then he paused.

Later, Cas would find it odd that he stopped at all, but at that moment, it all seemed completely logical: Dean _could not_ see his wings. Not that it was impossible, in fact, Castiel was fairly certain he had strength enough to move around some building blocks of matter, but he didn't _want_ Dean to see his wings... Because the hunter would surely be revolted. Castiel did not want to have to endure the scrutiny and shame.

"So what are you waiting for? _Do it_!"

The angel shook his head, grimacing as he looked over his shoulder forlornly at something that wasn't there. "I... I can’t."

"But you _just said_ -"

"Dean."

And somehow, Dean understood… Though he was not quite sure he had it right. Castiel was logical; there was no way in hell that something as mundane and human as pride and self-consciousness would stop him from asking for help. "Wait… This isn't because you just don't want me to see your goddamn wings, is it?"

Uncharacteristically, Castiel looked away from the hunter. Dean just about exploded. "Dammit, Cas! Are you friggin' insane?!"

"You don't understand," the angel muttered. 

Dean scoffed. "What? Are they pink and sparkly or something? Fluffy? Is it a size thing? I mean, shit, you're a freaking angel. I seriously doubt-"

" _I AM BROKEN_." 

Castiel was heaving from his place on the ground, looking up at the hunter, completely lost. Dean would never understand. An angel's wings were sacred. They were only a hair less important than a Grace, and so their aesthetic quality was a mark of stature. Not to mention that grooming was especially important, and so when Castiel returned from Hell, wings blackened and singed, he had been different. He stood out. Of course, because their mangled appearance meant a job well done, Cas had been ridiculously proud. He had, in fact, received many compliments on them. But despite the fact that he was still pleased at what he'd done, the angel could not deny the ugliness and rawness of his wings. They looked wrong, and Cas did not want Dean to bear witness to them. He wanted the hunter to think... Well, he wasn’t exactly sure, but he didn’t want Dean to be disgusted or disappointed. Ultimately, Castiel didn't want sympathy, and he didn't want the eldest Winchester to feel responsible and bad for what had happened. After all, the angel certainly did not regret his actions. "I am broken," Cas repeated softly. "My wings... You will not like what you see." 

"Which is why I need to fix you." 

"No, Dean. This cannot be fixed." 

And then the hunter got on his knees, looking his angel dead in the eye. "Now you listen to me and you listen good: all the crap we've been through, all that shit... do you really think I'll think any less of you because of some friggin feathers? Cas, you're my- I mean, I-" He cut himself off, only barely understanding where he was going with all of it, but uncomfortable even in the vagueness of it all. "If you think that, you're more of a dick than I thought," the hunter finished lamely.

Castiel looked at him with a frown, caught between confusion and hurt, and Dean scrubbed a hand across his face. He hadn't meant it like that. Clearing his throat, the young man lowered his voice in an attempt to seem more masculine. "Look, I didn't mean it like that. Just-just show me your wings so I can fix you, okay?"

Though the words themselves seemed like nothing special, there was something about the way Dean had said it that made the angel pause. So with a nod, Cas forced himself to stand, hands shaking as he fiddled with his tie and jacket, face contorting in agony. Dean immediately stepped forward, not thinking as he helped his angel undress. Castiel hissed and his chest heaved with effort, every contraction of his back muscles sending a shooting pain into the back of his wing.

When his torso was bare, Cas concentrated, a furrow in his brow as the angel went one step beyond astral projection, forcefully moving matter around in order to create some semblance of his true form. He emitted a bright white light so powerful Dean had to shield his eyes for a moment.

The air around them crackled and popped, and when the room was dim again, Dean Winchester bore witness to two enormous shadows that, within the blink of an eye, came into more sharpened view. 

They were huge. Still slightly cramped, Castiel's wingspan exceeded the width of the room. Dean was surprised. Not repulsed, or horrified, but genuinely surprised at both their size and aesthetic qualities. He had always expected angel wings to be fluffy and white, but Cas' seemed rough. Jagged. And they were black. Black and burned, as if chewed up by fire. Dean could see scar tissue riddled among the feathers, and the plumage itself seemed sporadic in some places. The hunter noted the small, white, down-like feathers that attempted to poke out from under the inky mass, but also noted that these feathers were few and far between: like they were trying to grow but couldn't. 

Castiel looked at Dean Winchester, blue eyes wide and vulnerable as his friend reached forward and brushed the tips of his fingers along a wing. Soft, Dean noted. Much softer than they looked. Like silk, or velvet. Cas gasped in surprise, and the hunter apologized, in awe of the being before him. Maybe they looked a little bit broken, but they were beautiful. Powerful. And Dean was sure he'd sense the sublime no matter how mangled they appeared. 

"I apologize," the angel managed. "My… angel bits, are grotesque."

The hunter's eyes flicked over to Cas' and he frowned in confusion. "No," Dean said softly, forgetting himself in their splendor. "You're beautiful." And as if he just realized what he was saying, the eldest Winchester cleared his throat and shook his head, moving to get the first aid kit. "Lie down, Featherbutt. Let's get you fixed up."

Castiel’s head was spinning from the compliment, but he did as he was told, easing onto the bed on his stomach while Dean took the lampshade off one of the bedside lamps in order to see. Sitting on the angel's right side, the hunter leaned forward, looking at the base of his wing with a frown. A big, angry gash marred the scarred and feathered flesh. “Jesus, what the hell happened?"

"One of my brothers," the angel answered. "He... Took me by surprise." 

Dean bit his lip, going to wash his hands before starting with the wound. Blood had coagulated at this point, which was a good sign, but errant feathers were stuck in the mix, and it needed to be disinfected. Thanking his lucky stars that they had peroxide instead of rubbing alcohol, the hunter carefully put some of the liquid on a cotton ball, gently dabbing the area. Cas hissed. Dean paused, eyes flicking up to the dark mass of hair with an affectionate smirk. "Suck it up, Flyboy.’

"I do not understand why you feel the need to refer to me in such ridiculous terms."

Dean didn't answer, though he allowed himself a small smile. Digging through the first aid bag, he came up with some polysporin, gauze and medical tape. "So, how's this gonna work, with me fixing it and stuff?" 

"I'm not entirely sure," Cas replied. "I suspect that I will need to keep my wings on this plane for the time being." 

Using his finger to lightly brush some polysporin over the wound, Dean nodded in understanding. Unsure as to why, the hunter then ran his medication-covered finger over some old scar tissue. He wished that had healed better. The angel in question shivered in response, and Dean curled his finger back towards his palm, tips of his ears pink. "You'll, um, you'll have to stay out of sight for a few days at least." 

"I will be on my way as soon as you have finished repairing me," Cas assured him.

Dean rolled his eyes. Because really? That was ridiculous. "You won't make it out the friggin' door without being seen, Cas. Besides, Sam and I have been wanting a bit of a break. No trouble if you stay." 

"Thank you," the angel murmured, more than grateful.

Dean shrugged it off. "Just don't get all girly on me. Gimme a sec-" he reached over, a hand on the small of Cas's back to steady himself as the hunter reached for the scissors on the other bedside table. Castiel zoned in on the place their bare flesh touched, his cheeks glowing pink. Dean, of his part, paused at the contact as well, his mind overrun with impure thoughts that, quite frankly, scared the crap out of him. Quickly, he cleared his throat and moved back to his original position. Putting on the bandage, the hunter lightly pressed down the last piece of tape, fingers not moving from their place on Castiel's wing as he muttered a ‘done’ under his breath. Cas murmured his thanks, though the sound tapered off as Dean's finger traveled up the edge of his wing of its own accord. The human was completely enthralled. 

Though there was something decidedly intimate about the entire affair, Dean could not bring himself to stop. It was fascinating, feeling the softness on the surface and the bone and muscle underneath, watching the scorched feathers filter through his fingers. Cas inhaled sharply, though Dean was almost entirely sure it was not because he was in pain. Strangely, apart from making the hunter slightly uncomfortable, the sound also shot straight to his groin. "So, um, why..." He trailed off, amazed that when he'd lifted his hand, Castiel had leaned up, wing seeking his touch. Carefully, Dean resumed his stroking motion, telling himself it was for Cas' benefit rather than his own. His friend was hurting, after all.

But Dean could not describe how… awe-inducing it felt to touch his angel's wings. How huge it felt. This was something Cas was self-conscious about, and he trusted Dean enough to witness them; to touch them. That was staggering.

"Hm?" the angel asked, completely out of it. His voice had an odd, high-pitched quality to it and Dean couldn't help but smirk. Though to be honest, he had forgotten his question in the first place. Sifting through the soft feathers, however, the hunter remembered, despite blushing at Castiel's quiet mewl. "What happened to them?" 

And Cas tensed ever so slightly, suddenly serious as he craned his neck to look over at his mortal with sobered blue eyes. "I rescued a Righteous Man." 

Dean's heart constricted in his chest, and he touched a small white feather in absolute disgust with himself. Castiel had been perfect before and because of him-- 

"It was a small price to pay for your resurrection," the angel said softly, turning slightly to get a better view of the hunter. "In fact, in Heaven, they branded me a hero. I was honoured because of my wings and what they represented." 

Though this made Dean feel marginally better, he was still upset. It seemed that everything he touched turned to ash. 

But not Castiel, not ever again. 

Dean would never let Cas become the sex-addicted, drug-addled version of himself that apparently awaited in the year 2014. 

"Cas, I-"

The angel's hand came to rest on Dean's knee, touch searing the hunter’s skin with gorgeous, sexually-charged heat. He understood that it was meant to be comforting, and on some level it was, but good lord his thoughts were far from saintly. This, of course, only served to terrify the hunter even further.

"It was a small price to pay," Cas repeated seriously. 

Dean wanted to believe that. He really, really did… But at the end of the day, the mortal just didn't think he was worth it. He didn’t deserve Castiel’s unwavering faith and trust, and he certainly hadn’t deserved the rescue from Hell. Not after what he’d done down there. The hunter stayed quiet though, fingers resuming their motion across Cas' wings as the angel flopped back on the bed with a groan. "Dean, perhaps now would be an appropriate time to st-"

But Dean had straddled Castiel's posterior. He was barely aware of himself, leaning over to look at a spot on the angel's left wing, his hands flat against Cas' back. There were two imprints: the top halves of an index and middle finger around the top edge of the wing. It almost looked as if somebody had grabbed it. Carefully, Dean Winchester placed his own fingers on the marks, immediately assaulted with a warm, electric feeling. He gasped and Cas groaned, the angels’ hands fisting the sheets as his wings contracted. 

Dean's fingers fit perfectly. 

"Y-you grabbed me," Cas said, slightly out of breath. "When I raised you from perdition, you grabbed me. Your soul-" Castiel cut himself off, aware that though he had no idea what was going on, these sorts of moments usually made Dean uncomfortable. 

"I don't remember it." The man in question frowned softly, and the angel felt honoured. Dean had never openly spoken about Hell before, directly or indirectly.

"I ensured you wouldn't.”

They were quiet for a while, and Dean was the first to move. He had no idea why, but carefully, he began to sift his fingers through Cas' wings again, keenly aware of the effect he was having on the angel. Some part of him, the part that was hardened from years of hunting and abuse from his father told him that what he was doing was wrong... But despite that seemingly rational thought, Dean did not feel like he was doing something bad. Maybe a little uncomfortable, but the sounds Castiel was making made him proud and happy... They turned him on. He didn’t feel disgusted. 

Perhaps it was his curiosity that pushed him forward, or perhaps it was simply the fact that he was getting hotter by the minute, but Dean traced his fingers to the valley in between the angel's wings, watching in amazement as Cas shuddered violently. 

"Dean..." Castiel trailed off, eyes rolling back into his head as the mortal's appendages moved farther down, stopping at the small of his back, palms flat. 

Surprising both the angel and himself, Dean Winchester then pressed his lips to the smooth skin between Cas’ wings, nudging his nose affectionately against the angel's back before pulling away, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. 

He had enjoyed that entirely too much.

Meanwhile, Castiel was coming undone. The slow torture of being touched so lightly, so innocently, was enough to drive the angel up the wall... But a kiss? Cas had not lied when he'd told Dean he had no sexual experience. There had been no time for that in Heaven, and the angel would have not been interested even if there had. Actually, sex hadn’t seemed the least bit interesting until Castiel came to Earth. There was something about humans and their love and passion... Their shorter time span forced them to love with a panicked urgency that was felt by Heaven but not properly understood. Cas understood it better now, though not completely. There was something about _Dean_. 

The feeling of the hunter's lips against the angel’s bare skin would have been divine regardless, but the area between his wings was extremely sensitive. Dean's mouth had been soft, the tip of his nose cold, and Castiel had felt the young man's head and hair when the wings in question had contracted in surprise and pleasure, his harmed appendage twinging from the movement. 

Both parties were extremely still. And while Cas was merely trying to understand all the sensations he was currently feeling, Dean was trying to decide whether or not to run out the door.

Because this was ridiculous. Dean was as masculine a man as there was, and he didn't do this kind of thing. Ever. In fact, just thinking of it made him uncomfortable. But… add Cas into the equation and he didn’t feel any of that. Castiel made him feel proud of himself, and good, and like he was finally worth something. And that _wasn't_ wrong, because that was how girls had made him feel in the past.

Briefly, Dean floundered in this realization and possibility: that wanting something more than friendship with the angel did not make him less of a man.

Holy Hell, was that ever terrifying. 

"Dean?" 

Slowly turning, Castiel looked at the hunter with a concerned frown; though he was still processing his feelings, it had been too quiet. Besides, Dean looked troubled… And the last thing Cas wanted was for him to be uncomfortable.

This, however, did not seem to be much of an issue, for upon hearing his name, the hunter clambered off the angel and to his right side, helping Cas half sit up as he did. 

Dean kissed him. 

It wasn't long, or heavy: a couple of seconds at most, but in those few moments, Castiel felt his vessel's toes curl. A warm, golden feeling exploded in the center of his being and the angel shut his eyes, brows furrowing as he took in every sensation: the softness of the hunter's lips, the feel of Dean's fingers against his jaw, the feeling of falling. 

Of his part, Dean was shocked. Perhaps because again, some part of him thought he'd feel revulsion, but the hunter was a very enthusiastic participant. Cas was completely pliable in his hands, and the sensation of his warm, chapped lips was nice… not to mention that the little sounds of pleasure the angel made were more than encouraging. Castiel was out of breath when Dean pulled away, and the hunter merely stared, cheeks red. Cas opened his eyes as if he was in a daze. 

"Cas." Dean said his name like a statement, a question, and an answer; a plea. Like that one word was the only thing in between him and oblivion. 

Maybe it was. 

Either way, the dark-haired man grabbed the other’s arm, suppressing a shudder of pleasure at their proximity as he listened to his name intently, blue eyes coming into fast focus on the mortal before him. The mortal that looked so torn, so confused, so flushed. Castiel may have been a little clueless, but his observational skills were still above par.

And Dean always seemed very uncomfortable when Cas got that weird feeling in his stomach and groin.

Carefully, Castiel scooted closer to the hunter, their legs touching as he tilted his head to the side, fingers hesitantly reaching forward to trace Dean's cheekbone. When the mortal didn’t seem averse to the action, the angel let his fingers touch the skin. He remembered knitting that flesh and bone together, how awed he had been at human beauty. Not much had changed: Dean was still beautiful, and Cas was still awed by him. "Despite the fact that I lack the subtlety of human interaction, I feel the need to inform you that I very much enjoyed that act of physical affection. However, I... understand if you do not wish to repeat the action." Immediately after saying it, the angel felt embarrassment wash over him. Though this in itself was odd, Cas was too busy wondering why he sounded like an automaton (that was what Sam had said, right?) half the time. 

But that had actually comforted Dean. There was something so very Cas about the way he had said it, like he had short-circuited because this was new to him, too, and was also completely out of his comfort zone. "Well, I guess we'll skip the pillow-talk," Dean replied wryly, trying to find a foothold. He knew it was kind of a dick thing to say after how kind and understanding angel had just been, but the hunter was grasping at straws. 

Cas frowned. "Pillow-talk?"

Okay, that backfired. "Um, yeah. You know, uh, dirty talk. Like, to turn on the other person and stuff."

"I wasn't aware I was off."

Dean gave the angel a disbelieving look, caught up in the normalcy of the conversation. Because suddenly, it didn’t feel like this was any different than their normal. "Sexual arousal, Cas. To make the other person aroused."

Dean saw realization flash across the angel's face as Castiel understood; a small, crooked smile playing at his lips. “I’m… turning you on?” 

“What?! No!” The hunter clammed up, Cas’ question bringing everything into reality much _much_ to quickly. The angel frowned, troubled. “I mean, maybe,” Dean continued. “Yes? I don’t- Dammit Cas, _don’t do that_!”

“Do what?” he asked, genuinely confused as he cocked his head to the side.

“Fuck. _That_ ,” Dean muttered. “You with your friggin’ blue eyes and your face and your wings just- _Fuck_.”

“Dean, the last thing I wish to do is make you uncomfortable or angry-”

“ _I know_ ,” the hunter replied, frustrated and helpless. “That’s part of the goddamn problem.”

This only served to confuse the angel further, and though he had no idea what to do, he wanted to stop Dean from feeling the way he was. Understanding that the prior physical contact between them had been part of the problem, Cas was very careful about his next move.

Slowly, the angel reached forward, palms flat on the mortal’s chest as he slid the appendages up to his shoulders. Castiel then leaned forward ever so slightly, looking down at Dean’s lips instinctually before meeting his eyes. Both men swallowed thickly, and Cas felt his tongue move to wet his lips before placing a chaste kiss on the corner of Dean’s mouth.

Their last physical interaction had made the angel feel better… Maybe this one would do the same for his hunter?

“Was that alright?” Castiel asked, concerned. “Did it help?”

The light-haired human gave a microscopic nod, simply looking at the angel in utter astonishment. Cas had kissed him to make him feel better. To _make him feel better_. And even more amazing was Castiel’s answering smile to his reaction, like the dark-haired being was just so proud and happy that he had helped his companion. Spurred on by the positive response, Cas kissed Dean again, this time directly on the mouth.

Surprised by the bolder move, the hunter tensed, causing his angel to pull back in alarm. “I apologize-”

But Dean cut him off with a kiss of his own. Though the words: _I didn’t say stop_ , were never said, Cas received the message loud and clear. The hunter’s mouth mashed against his own, Dean’s tongue swiping across his bottom lip in a way that made the angel gasp. Of his part, the human took advantage of this, kisses turning wet and open-mouthed as Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ waist, pulling him forward. Clumsily, the angel straddled the eldest Winchester, groaning at the feeling of his hardness. The sound turned into a moan, however, when Dean’s hands crept up Cas’ back to fondle his wings. Instinctually, the angel bucked forward, his own hands frantically looking for the bottom of his partner’s shirt.

He knew what was happening now. In theory.

They broke their frenzied contact for only a moment to rid the hunter of that particular article of clothing, Dean immediately moving to pressed open-mouthed kisses to the angel’s neck. He liked the stubble, he briefly thought, it felt nice.

Of his part, Castiel cradled his hunter’s head, one palm flat against his anti-possession tattoo. His other hand tangled in the hunter’s hair, tugging slightly. The man in question groaned in response and the angel smiled.

When Dean licked Cas’ Adam’s apple, the angel had a sharp intake of breath. When Dean nibbled at the skin of his neck, Castiel curled his fingers against the hunter’s skin, causing the man in question to smirk. Dean pulled away then, his angel whimpering at the loss of contact for only a moment before the eldest Winchester descended upon his mouth again, this time scraping his teeth against Cas’ bottom lip before he pulled away completely. Castiel shook his head. That wasn’t it, was it? He needed something else. Something more. “Dean…” He didn’t even know what he was begging for.

Dean did.

Without hesitation, the hunter brought his hand down, palming Cas through the material of his pants. The angel gasped, immediately burying his face in Dean’s neck as he sporadically placed kisses onto his flesh.

It felt _so good_. But there was something wrong. Castiel felt like he was going to die. There was so much pressure, and too many sensations, and everything was just coming together and he didn’t want Dean to stop but he’d surely combust if— “ _D-Dean_.”

And Castiel was completely one with his vessel. His nerve endings were stimulated beyond what he had considered possible, and the angel felt light and heavy and satisfied all at once. It was like even though he was grounded, he was flying in a space that felt infinitely more pleasurable than his normal. Breathing heavily, Cas hugged himself into his hunter, flushed and sweaty and completely satisfied. He noticed that the pressure in his groin had been relieved, but felt sticky whenever he moved. It was uncomfortable, but a manageable sort of discomfort. “Cas?” Dean asked quietly, anxiously.

“I’m here,” he breathed in answer, squeezing the other man a little more tightly. The angel heard his hunter take a sharp breath and frowned when he felt Dean’s hardness still pressing insistently against him. Carefully, as if he wasn’t sure what he was about to do was allowed or correct, the angel let his hand trail down to the human’s groin.

“C-Cas?”

Castiel scooted back, leaving enough room for his hand as he palmed Dean in same fashion that the hunter had done to him. “Is this correct?” he asked, looking at his companion in absolute amazement as Dean closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the angel’s.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s… That’s good.”

As Cas snagged the button of Dean’s jeans with his fingers, he paused, eyes flicking up to the hunter as the man in question looked at him, confused.

Castiel undid the button.

Though not sure how he felt about that, Dean didn’t have time to dwell on it; Cas was soon stroking him through the material of his boxer briefs. Dean bucked forward towards the angel’s hand, face red with embarrassment as Cas smiled, leaning forward to kiss his hunter on the mouth. Dean groaned into the kiss as the other man moved faster against him, almost perfectly mimicking his previous actions.

Did that ever feel _awesome_.

“C-Cas,” Dean murmured, pulling away from the angel to look at him through half-lidded eyes. “I’m- _Fuck_.”

Dean came undone, a grown man clutching to his best friend like a lifeline as his body tensed before relaxing beyond anything Castiel had ever felt. The angel looked down at where his hand rested on Dean’s crotch with interest, the material beneath his fingers become damp with a warm substance. He had a strange, surely unclean urge to taste his hunter in every way possible, but stopped himself, instead tasting the skin of his neck, just below his ear. Dean sighed.

They stayed like that for a moment: Cas clutching onto the mortal for dear life, Dean breathing heavily as he tried to understand what had just happened. What he had just _let_ happen.

And how he was surprisingly calm about the entire thing.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” The hunter pulled back, looking at the blue-eyed man through tired, content eyes.

Cas felt himself smile; He had put that look there. “Are you alright?”

The mortal paused. Was he? An angel, in a male vessel, who also happened to be his best friend, got his rocks off in a seedy motel room; they both came in their pants like teenagers; and Dean was starting to think he had a wing kink… not to mention the serious questioning of his sexuality that was going on.

And yet, despite all of that, Dean Winchester felt… content. Happy, even. Safe. And wasn’t that insane? In the middle of the freaking apocalypse, he, the Sword of Michael, felt _safe_.

Not that the feelings in themselves didn’t scare the absolute crap out of him, but at this point, Dean was too tuckered out to care. On top of physical exhaustion, the hunter was tired of being stressed and anxious and hating himself. So for one night, he forgot. He forgot about Lucifer and Michael and Sam and _The End_ and selfishly hung onto Cas. Because even though Dean _knew_ he’d beat himself up for it later, he hadn’t felt so good in a long while. And maybe he deserved happiness, just for tonight. I mean, Cas certainly thought so, and the hunter more than valued his friend’s opinion. That, and tonight had not just been about Dean. Castiel had very obviously enjoyed himself, and watching the angel come undone had been one of the single most amazing experiences in the hunter’s life. In fact, if he was being honest with himself (which was normally a feat in itself), Dean had loved giving his angel pleasure as much as he had enjoyed receiving it.

So, was he alright? The hunter grinned, nodding as he thumbed Cas’ jaw affectionately. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“I am… good, as well.”

“Good.”

“Yes.”

When Sam arrived later that evening, he was met with a destroyed motel room. On the far bed, a winged Castiel sat impossibly close to a dozing Dean, legs tucked up to his chin. Raptly, the angel stared at the television screen, lips quirking up every so often at the moving pictures on screen. Looney Tunes. Their resident Warrior of Heaven was watching Looney Tunes.

What the hell had happened while he was gone?

“Hello, Sam.” Castiel barely looked up from the television screen, expecting to be far more self-conscious than he actually felt. Perhaps it was the fact that, squished between their bodies, the angel and hunter were holding hands, and Dean made Cas feel brave. Or maybe it was that Cas was, again, very proud of his wings. 

After all, they were still functional and strong... And beautiful, according to the hunter beside him. 

Still beautiful.


End file.
